Covert Reich (22 page)

Or did it? She remembered the night before, with Tony. The way he’d looked at her, touched her, kissed her, made love to her. Had it all been a lie? She felt the sting of tears again. Kelly quickly downed the rest of her cocktail. She didn’t know what to believe any more.

What did they think she knew? Where was she supposed to go and what was she supposed to do? Should she contact the FBI? And tell them what exactly? She leaned her head back on the seat and closed her eyes.

No matter what, she had to figure this out. And she had to figure it out quickly because there was no way in hell she was going to wind up dead. Kelly was going to get out of this thing alive, if that was at all possible.

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

Only moments after he hung up with Susan, Redding decided to head out and purchase a nice gift for her—something to ensure her continued allegiance and silence.

Once he’d found the perfect diamond tennis bracelet, he had the driver stop by the liquor store and purchase a bottle of Dom. He was not going to allow all of his hard work to go up in smoke. He was going to celebrate all he had already accomplished and what was to come.

Champagne and gift in hand, Redding was on his way home to await his companion for the evening and release some of this pent up tension. His phone rang and he sighed heavily before answering. This couldn’t be good. It seemed lately every time he answered a call, it was not good news. He was right.

“You lost the doctor?! One defenseless woman against three men and you completely screw it up?” What kind of fucking idiots did he have working for him?

“There was a cop following us. We could only do so much. And Thomas is dead. He was hit by a car.”

“What?!”
Redding screamed into the phone.

“Yeah.
I’m sorry. I am.” Redding heard the tremor in Mark’s voice. He should be afraid. Redding had clearly jumped the gun by moving this moron up in the ranks. “Where’s Connor?”

“I don’t know. We scattered and went our separate ways, you know. The cops were everywhere.”

Redding could feel the blood boiling inside of him. “Listen to me, Mark, and listen carefully. You have twenty-four hours to find Dr. Morales.”

“How?”

“That’s your problem, isn’t it?”

“What if we can’t, sir?”

“Well, Mark, as you know there are consequences for ineptitude. Bring in the doctor.”

Peter hung up the phone and looked out the window. This was unbelievable. The organization was ready for the next step. Not a step backward. He had to do some damage control where Thomas was concerned. The good news was The Brotherhood had rules about keeping one’s identity low key. If the man had followed those rules, the police would have a hard time discovering anything at all on him.

The other real problem at hand was this Dr. Morales. If he could track her down and work some of The Brotherhood
magic
on her, she could prove very useful. She ran a NICU unit in one of the biggest welfare hospitals in the state. Yes, she was Hispanic, but maybe that was exactly what he needed at the moment. Things were way out of hand. If he could bring in a minority, threaten her, threaten who and what she loved most, he’d have her in the palm of his hand. The key was finding the bitch, and fast. If she had any inkling what was going on, and took that information to the right person—he and everyone in The Brotherhood would be royally fucked. He could not let that happen. He had worked too hard for their ultimate goal. A white America. A white world!

It would all start with Senator Wentworth. Good old Lawrence. Peter hand-picked him long before Wentworth had any idea about The Brotherhood’s existence. He’d been following the senator’s career since their early days in college. Fraternity brothers. There were things Peter knew about Wentworth that would curl the hairs of his constituents. Wentworth was a lot like Peter in many ways. Not so much in others. The two of them firmly agreed on what the country should look like, what a new world should look like. And Wentworth had that All-American, apple-pie image going for him, which made people trust him.

Peter had it all worked out. The campaign money was rolling in from all sorts of private sources: White Power kingpins, pro-abortion liberals, feminists. Wentworth was preaching health care for everyone, but still allowing the wealthy to choose their own private physicians. Sure, presidents had tried to do it before. But Wentworth would be able to get it done and make everyone happy on all sides. Granted, the health care ruse would cost an arm and a leg, but through private funds, the deal would be signed, sealed, and delivered before anyone knew what was going on.

Health care facilities would be planted right in the middle of impoverished areas—places like Watts, Harlem, Detroit, all along the Mason-Dixon line—with their huge number of surplus people. Once the facilities were established, the plan would kick-off with free prenatal care, which would supply the women with free
vitamins
mass produced by Frauen Pharmacueticals, of course. In addition to being highly addictive, the vitamins, containing
Pure,
would also induce spontaneous abortions, causing most fetuses to die long before birth.

The beauty of it was the drug could be put into birth control pills. The same chemical reaction causing the abortions would also induce sterilization. The last piece of the puzzle Peter needed to figure out was how to get men to ingest the chemical. But this wasn’t strictly necessary, because if the surplus hordes couldn’t procreate, in eighty to a hundred years, the problem would be eliminated anyway.

The bigger problems they would encounter would likely be political. But Redding felt sure he had that figured out as well. The key would be initiating and keeping the right men involved in The Brotherhood.

A president could only be in term for eight years, but there were others The Brotherhood would line up. There would be supporters and the support would grow. Good, politically correct white Americans would begin to see the errors of their ways. Half of them hid their real feelings anyway about minorities. Redding was certain of it. The drug could be introduced as a street drug in the long run. Once out there on the streets, The Brotherhood’s plans for a new type of humanity could really take hold. The trials within these health care facilities were nice and controlled. They made it easy to see if the drug worked. On the street it would be more difficult to tell. Once the drug was working within the controlled test facilities, then a release on the
undesirable
populations as a whole could go into effect.

He knew he wouldn’t be alive to see his final solution realized. But he felt secure knowing the world would be a much better place without millions upon millions of wretched mongrels ruining things for the white race. Policies could be introduced forbidding non-European immigrants from entering the United States. Hell, if the peons of the world wanted to kill one another, why should the U.S. step in and try to make things better? Peter never understood this shortsighted policy. Once he and The Brotherhood were in charge of The White House, changes would take place, big changes. But first, Peter had to gain back the control slipping from him.

As the car parked in the drive and the driver opened the door, Peter stepped out and immediately felt something different in the air. Something was not quite right.

He had a visitor. Senator Wentworth was waiting for him in his den. His eyes were red rimmed and he looked very upset.

“Senator?” he said.

Wentworth stood up quickly from the chair he’d been seated in, “I know you killed my nephew, Redding!”

Peter walked over to the bar and poured himself a scotch and soda. With his back to Wentworth, he said, “I am sure you’re upset about your nephew, Lawrence. It’s such a shame, and I am terribly sorry. He was an asset to us.”

“Fuck you!” Wentworth shouted.

Peter turned. “Now, senator, that doesn’t sound very presidential of you. Go bury your nephew, put this bad business behind you, and move on with your campaign. You can probably use this suicide thing to your advantage considering it’s one of those ugly tragedies no one ever talks about.” He took a sip from his glass. 

“Chad did not kill himself, Peter. He was murdered. By you.”

Peter set his drink down on his desk and walked very close to Wentworth. His voice pitched low and threatening. “Listen to me and listen carefully. You are currently in a position to become the leader of the free world. The question you need to ask yourself is not how Chad died, but who is padding your pockets to ensure you become the next president of the United States.” He gave Wentworth a shove and pushed him back down into his chair.

The senator winced.

“I think the most respectful thing you can do for your deceased nephew
and
your constituents is focus on the future. Now, I have business to attend to. Is there anything else you wanted to discuss, Lawrence?”

Wentworth stood and stared at Peter. He nodded his head once and walked out of the room. Peter sighed heavily and downed his drink. The last thing he needed on top of his problems was a loose cannon politician. If he had to, he’d cut the strings on his puppet and find another way to bring his plans to fruition.

CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

Mark knew he was in deep shit. He’d made a serious error in judgment. As he threw what little clothes he had into a duffle bag, he realized he’d allowed his obsession with Dr. Morales to get in the way. Mark wasn’t so stupid he couldn’t see the writing on the wall. He was a dead man walking if he didn’t come through for Peter Redding and The Brotherhood. But that was okay, he had a back-up plan: get the hell out of Dodge.

Yet, Mark knew going on the run meant he’d always be looking over his shoulder. Every time he turned the key in the lock to whatever hellhole he wound up in, he’d be wondering if Connor or some other henchman would be waiting for him. At least he didn’t have to worry about Thomas hunting him down. That had been an ugly scene and all Mark could do was get the hell out.

Right now though, he had to get out of his place. Period. And he had to make an effort to find Kelly Morales.

Where could she have gone? She was scared shitless and with his made up line about the cop working for him, he was pretty sure he had her really freaked out. Looking back now, he realized what a brilliant ploy that had been. Sure, he hadn’t expected her to get away but now that she had, the last thing she’d be doing was call the detective. But she would need someone. Wouldn’t she?

Mark chugged down his second Budweiser before ditching his dirt-bag apartment. Friends…he belched and then started laughing. He had a good idea which friend she’d reached out to. And maybe that friend would know where the good doctor was hiding out.

Time to pay someone a visit.

CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

Jeanine had just finished feeding the kids and sat them in front of the television where they were watching the Cartoon Network and keeping baby Oliver entertained. She could not believe they had actually made it to the cabin. They had taken the bus out of Port Jervis at noon, and seven hours later, finally wound up in a taxi in front of the bus depot in the Catskills. The driver had dropped them off at the cabin at nearly eight o’ clock.

Time was running out to give Gem Michaels a phone call. After getting everyone settled, it was already after six in California. The number Ryan gave her had obviously been Ms. Michael’s work phone. She hadn’t bothered to leave a message because she wasn’t sure what to tell her via voicemail. However, she realized as the minutes past, she might not have a chance

Jeanine was grateful Aunt Camille currently lived in a nursing home. Before they left for Germany, she’d handed Ryan and Jeanine the keys to her cabin, telling them it was her way of getting them to come back home soon. The cabin was pretty remote and conveniently isolated…not the ideal place for an elderly woman to live but perfect for a woman and three children on the run. She hoped.

Jeanine knew she was on borrowed time. Getting in touch with Gem Michaels was vital. She fished the card out of her purse with the journalist’s phone number on it. She closed her eyes and prayed she would answer. Her eyes opened when someone picked up. “Gem Michaels, speaking.” The woman’s voice was deep, slightly raspy.

“Oh my God, finally!
Thank goodness.” Jeanine could not believe it.

“Yes. Who is this?”

“I’m sorry, I’m, I’m…my husband, he met you and he…we are in a lot of trouble. He told me to call you.”

Oliver cried out from the room upstairs. Jeanine hoped he could hang in there until she was done talking.

“I’m sorry, who is this?”

Jeanine spoke up. “My husband is a chemist. He sent you an e-mail.” The baby began wailing loudly. “Hang on please. Please don’t hang up.” Jeanine dashed down the hall into Oliver’s room and carried him back into the kitchen. He instantly settled down and played with the coiled phone cord. “Ms. Michaels are you still there?”

“Yes.”

“My husband’s name is Dr. Ryan Horner.”

“Okay.”

“He sent you an e-mail, asking you to keep an eye on your neighbor. He signed it Chemmadderhorn.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You have to believe me. He works for some very bad people in Germany.”

“You’re in Germany?”

“No. Please listen. Ryan is and we are in serious trouble. These people, they killed my best friend. Her name is Melanie Schneider. You can verify that. It should be all over the news by now. Ryan is in hiding, I think, and I am on the run. I don’t know who I can trust but he was certain we could trust you. His boss is a man named Peter Redding. Redding is the CEO of a private pharmaceutical company, Frauen Pharmaceuticals. I can’t give you more details about what’s going on but my husband said it’s bad and we need help.”

There was no response on the other end and for a moment Jeanine thought Gem had hung up on her. “Please, Ms. Michaels, are you there? I…we need your help.”

“I’m here. I will help you. Can you tell me where you are?”